N Y X A R A
I remembered the room before I remembered the boy.
White walls. Silver table. No windows. And my own voice begging someone not to forget me. The memory did not arrive gently. It closed around my throat.
Cold metal pressed beneath my spine. Leather straps cut into my wrists. The air stank of burned sage, bitter serum, and the sharp, clean scent the Guild used whenever it wanted pain to look like medicine.
My hands were wrong. Smaller. Unscarred across the knuckles. Trembling despite everything I had been taught. A bell chimed somewhere beyond the observation glass.
“Begin compliance sequence.”
The words struck through me like hooked wire. My body went still before I chose it.
No.
The thought was mine. Thin, furious, alive. I counted the room automatically. Four white wal
